


Of campfires and ghosts

by FixaIdea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Camping, Canon Era, Gen, Ghost Stories, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis are entertaining themselves with ghost stories around the campfire. Enjolras isn't enjoying it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of campfires and ghosts

The nine leaders of Les Amis de l’ABC were huddled around a campfire, chatting amicably. They were technically on a mission of meeting groups of potential Republican allies in the environs of Paris, but by now, the bulk of their work done, the last couple of days of the trip have wound down into some pleasant camping in the woods.

Politics and the dangerous realities of the world set aside for the night the young men were laughing, singing and passing around a bottle of wine. Jehan was scribbling absently into a notebook, Combeferre explaining something about a piece of rock with great enthusiasm to Feuilly, who in turn was frying a piece of bacon on a stick over the campfire. Enjolras, slightly apart from the others, was staring off listlessly into space.

It was Courfeyrac who first tried to seize the group’s attention by telling ghost stories. His first attempt, a supposedly blood-curdling account of the terrible affair of the murderous beast of Gévaudan fell flat and got him a chorus of sighs, jeers and rolling eyes, simply because the case was too well known to be interesting.

Trying again (and scooting closer to the fire so the flames would cast eerie shadows on his face) he recounted the life and deeds, literal bloodbaths included, of the Transsylvanian countess Báthory – which actually managed to draw some shudders from his audience.

Joly, emboldened by Courfeyrac’s success piped up and told the story of Gasparek, the notorious vampire of Stará Ľubovňa, who would rise from his grave to haunt and attack his enemies and carry on an affair with his wife after his death. Joly’s lurid description of the creature’s adventures, his stubbornness in resisting exorcism and his strange stunts, such as riding a horse backwards, all in broad daylight, managed to get the full attention of Les Amis - all eyes were firmly glued on Joly.

Except for those of Enjolras, who has traded starting off into space for frowning at a spot somewhere above the shoulders of Feuilly and Grantaire.

Joly’s story started a chain – next up was Bossuet with the eerie sightings at the plague ridden and apparently cursed little street, Mary King’s Close in Edinburgh. Grantaire shivered, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Feuilly scooted closer to the fire.

Jehan, avid orientalist as always, told the legend and the blood chilling rumours surrounding the haunted fortress of Bhangarh in India* - the curse laid upon it and how no one was allowed to spend the night among the walls of the abandoned fort. Not if they wanted to see the light of day again.

This earned him a chorus of pleased hisses and shudders, the others leaning forward eagerly, enthusiastically adding the stories of their own. Even Enjolras ceased frowning – he was, again, staring blankly into the fire.

Soon they went a full circle, all having recounted a properly spooky story – all except Enjolras.

‘Come my friend’ said Courfeyrac, nudging him gently ‘Surely you must have some ghostly tale to share with us.’

‘I have no idea why you find the antics of spirits so interesting’ drawled Enjolras, poking the fire with an abjectly bored expression.

‘It’s just a bit of fun, come on!’

Enjolras let out an explosive sigh and threw a log on the fire. The others thought that was it, that he would not join them, but after a moment he spoke up.

‘Somewhere in the middle of Joly’s story Grantaire and Feuilly felt a patch of cold on their backs’ he said, flat, matter-of-fact ‘And maybe even you, Combeferre.’

He looked up – the three men were looking back quizzically at him but all of them nodded.

‘Now, you must have thought at the time that this coldness was nothing but a gust of wind but by the end of Jehan’s story it let up. You also felt relieved although you had no reason to be upset to begin with.’

The three quickly exchanged glances, visibly alarmed now – and one by one they nodded slowly.

Enjolras fixed his eyes at them.

‘I suppose it must have had to do something with the man who was standing right behind you all that time. I would have taken him for a lumberjack, except he had no face.’

With that he returned to listlessly poking the fire.

***

Silence reigned over the slumbering camp. The velvet blanket of peaceful quiet was only disrupted by the soft whispering of the leaves in the light breeze and the occasional muffled ‘God damn you Enjolras’.

 ***

Enjolras for his part didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. He didn’t believe in ghosts - much the same way he didn’t dignify puddles, dripping pens, Grantaire and other small annoyances of life by wasting belief on them. The others wanted to hear about ghosts - he spotted one and informed them of its presence, and that was that.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *I couldn’t find the exact date the fortress was abandoned so this may be in the territory of Artistic Licence.


End file.
